


Friday I'm In Love

by greensweater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, M/M, Meet-Cute, POV Sirius Black, Patient Sirius, You know how this goes, alcohol use, nurse Remus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-17 18:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17565761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensweater/pseuds/greensweater
Summary: The face smiles. It’s a man, Sirius sees, or someone who looks like a man, at least. He has tired hazel eyes, light brown skin, and some white, healed-over scars on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.“I'm the lucky bastard assigned to take care of you.” He pauses, seems to realize that sarcasm maybe isn’t what Sirius needs right now. “Um. Your nurse.”“Great.” Sirius sighs. “Give it to me straight. What’s the damage?”“You broke your left arm, fractured two ribs, and got a slight concussion,” the nurse says. “It’s not great, but at least you’re not dead.”“I meant my motorcycle.”The nurse raises his eyebrows. “Oh. I mean, it’s probably out of commission. I’m not a motorcycle nurse, so… I wouldn’t really know.”“Thanks,” Sirius grouses. Of coursehe’sbeen assigned the snarkiest nurse in the entire hospital.Alternatively, the meet-cute you never knew you needed.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a half-stupid haze at 2 am after reading the Order of the Phoenix for the thirtieth time so... enjoy!

The last thing Sirius remembers is a red light, a skidding truck, and a loud crash.

“Shit,” he says, blinking. He’s staring up at a white ceiling with a throbbing headache. “How’d I get in here?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” someone says, and he tries to turn his head to look, which sets off an awful, glaring pain in his head. He winces.

“I wouldn’t move, if I were you.” There’s a sound of someone walking, and then a face comes into view above him. “Hi. You’re in hospital because you got in an accident. Something involving a motorbike and a truck.”

“That would be my motorbike and an asshole truck driver who doesn’t know what a fucking red light means,” Sirius mumbles. “So I’m in hospital. Who are you?”

The face smiles. It’s a man, Sirius sees, or someone who looks like a man, at least. He has tired hazel eyes, light brown skin, and some white, healed-over scars on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.

“The lucky bastard assigned to take care of you.” He pauses, seems to realize that sarcasm maybe isn’t what Sirius needs right now. “Um. Your nurse.”

“Great.” Sirius sighs. “Give it to me straight. What’s the damage?”

“You broke your left arm, fractured two ribs, and got a slight concussion,” the nurse says. “It’s not great, but at least you’re not dead.”

“I meant my motorbike.”

The nurse raises his eyebrows. “Oh. I mean, it’s probably out of commission. I’m not a motorbike nurse, so… I wouldn’t really know.”

“Thanks,” Sirius grouses. Of course _he’s_ been assigned the snarkiest nurse in the entire hospital. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“You’ve been here for a few hours already and you’ve got surgery in forty-five minutes, so I’d say another day or two. You’re quite banged up.” The nurse runs a hand through his hair and offers Sirius a smile. It changes his face from slightly melancholy and prematurely lined to rather… attractive. Sirius clears his throat, suddenly conscious of his puffy eyes and tangled hair.

“Has my phone rung at all?”

The nurse shrugs. “I think your phone was smashed in the accident, mate. I can call someone for you, if you like.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “Yeah, can I use your phone?”

He struggles to type in the number with only one hand, and the nurse smirks slightly. 

“Need some help?”

Sirius snorts. “No thanks, sweetheart. I could type this number in my sleep.”

The phone rings and rings. _Pick up, nitwit_ , Sirius thinks. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, James,” he says. “It’s me. I’m in hospital.”

“Shit, are you alright? Hang on, which one? I’ll come down right now.” There’s a loud crash, and James curses filthily.

“Are _you_ alright?” Sirius asks, amused.

“Yeah, everything’s great. Lily’s at the cinema with Mar, they’re watching the new Liam Neeson movie. I didn’t want to go, too much blood and guts for me, so I’m home with Harry. Little bugger just knocked a vase over—thank god Petunia’s so cheap, it’s not even real glass… Listen, I’ll find a sitter and come down. Or I’ll just bring Harry—wait, am I allowed to do that? You’re not like, in the contagious disease section, are you?”

“I’m fine, James, just banged up. Bike crash. You know me.”

There’s a loud, loud sigh from James. “You fucking wanker. Here I was thinking ‘oh, he’s done it, he’s finally gone and contracted malaria’ and you’re just a little ‘banged up.’” He pauses. “Glad you’re okay, though.”

“Old age has changed you, Prongs,” Sirius jokes. “You’re more of an old lady than your mum.”

He can practically sense James rolling his eyes through the phone. “I’ll be down tomorrow afternoon. Try not to get into any more scrapes, if you can manage that.”

“I promise, my dearest.”

“ _Wanker_ ,” James says fondly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Prongsie.”

Sirius hangs up, smiling slightly, and hands the phone back to the nurse. When their fingers touch, the nurse looks down at the tiled floor, and Sirius notices how long his eyelashes are.

“Was that your boyfriend?” 

Sirius chokes.   
The nurse looks horrified. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to assume—”  
A kind of high-pitched giggle works its way out of Sirius’s throat. “My best friend. He’s got a wife and kid and everything—I mean, the closest it ever got was when I was sixteen and I got smashed and tried to kiss him at my parents’ New Year’s Eve party.” He sighs. “Ah, memories.”

It seems the nurse doesn’t quite know what to make of that. Sirius feels better already. 

“You go into surgery in half an hour,” the nurse says, clearly choosing to bypass all of… that. “My shift’s over before then, so I won’t be here when you wake up. The nurse on duty then is—” He flips the pages on his clipboard. “Gilderoy.” His tone darkens when he says that name, but he quickly pastes on a smile. “Don’t worry, he’s perfectly good. Just a little… intense.”

“So I won’t see you when I wake up from surgery?” Sirius asks, giving the nurse a long, slow once-over. "Shame."

“And… that’s the end of my shift,” the nurse says, checking his watch. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sirius. Good luck!”

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asks as the nurse turns to leave. “You know mine, but I don’t know yours. Doesn’t seem quite fair, does it?”

The nurse rolls his eyes. “That was the worst attempt at flirting I’ve ever seen.”

“Indulge me,” Sirius says. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not _dying_. It’s Remus.”

And with that, the nurse—Remus—leaves. Without even a look back. Sirius is offended.

And then a huge awful wave of pain washes over him and he hits the morphine button so hard he almost breaks another limb.

Sweet bliss.

 _What a weird fucking day_ , Sirius thinks, and promptly falls asleep.

 

...

 

Sirius buzzes Remus early the next morning. “My arm hurts,” he says, sighing like it’s the worst pain he’s ever experienced in his life. “And my cast is _itchy_.”

“Jesus, you’re a baby,” Remus says, a hint of amusement entering his voice. In the morning, the bags under his eyes are even more pronounced than in the afternoon.

“I should tell Doctor Pomfrey how mean you are,” Sirius says petulantly. 

“Do it. Maybe I’ll get fired and you’ll have to deal with never seeing my face again.” 

“Oh, the tragedy.”

Remus’s mouth twitches. “While I’m enjoying this snappy banter we’ve got going, I do have other patients. Don’t use too much of your painkiller supply; I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ll miss you, darling!” Sirius calls after him. No reply. _Damn_.

 

…

 

After Sirius has gone through every channel on the telly, paged through the magazines stacked on his bedside table, and resorted to humming _Aud Lang Syn_ under his breath, just for something to do, James and Lily come to visit.

“Prongs, Lily, thank god. Come to rescue me?”

“From what?” Lily asks, smiling.

“From _tedium_ , my love. Tedium. I’m so fucking bored. Remind me never to get sick again.”

“Noted,” James says, and drags over a chair. “You look like shit, mate. No offense.”

Sirius sighs. “Yeah, I know. And the worst part is, my bike is totalled."

“ _That’s_ the worst part? You truly always have your priorities sorted, Padfoot.”

“I know,” Sirius says. “It’s a curse.”

James and Lily are telling him a long, hilarious, and horrendously detailed story involving Peter and Harry and mashed potatoes when the door opens and Remus comes in. He stops still in his tracks.

“Oh, hi. Just coming to take Sirius’s vitals.” He moves to go the bed, but Lily rises to her feet, sticking out her hand. He takes it hesitantly.

“I’m Lily and this is James. We’re Sirius’s friends.”

“Oh, the James from the phone and the almost-New Year’s kiss incident.” 

James sputters. Lily pats him on the shoulder. “Yeah, he’s that James.”

Remus shoots him a wink. Sirius feels his cheeks turning a bright, beautiful shade of tomato. He can’t believe this is happening right now.

His hot nurse is hitting it off with his best friends while he’s sitting immobile in a stupid hospital bed with a broken arm, a concussion, and a fuckton of broken ribs. Cool. Absolutely _stellar_ way for this to be going.

Remus leaves after he takes Sirius’s vitals, but not before he and Lily bond over a mutual love of Ursula Le Guin and James gives him a recommendation for some hole-in-the-wall coffee joint.

The door swings shut and Lily and James, in one synchronous motion, turn to him, brows raised. Fuck them. They’re so nosy and annoying and he loves them.

“That’s Remus,” Sirius announces. “And he’s hot.”

James nods. “Well, there’s only one thing to say to that.”

“Which is?”

Lily smirks. “Fucking go for it.”

 

…

 

“Good morning, Sirius.”

“Morning,” he grunts. Everything’s too bright and stupid and… _loud_. “Ouch.”

“Concussions are a bitch,” Remus says sympathetically. “Head hurt?”

“So much.”

Remus leans over to get a warm washcloth, giving Sirius a front-seat ticket to the _Remus’s arms are surprisingly built_ show. Sirius raises his eyebrows. _Oh_. 

Everything fucking hurts and he’s dying and he still feels that tug of attraction in his gut when Remus talks to him. That’s interesting. Really interesting. Potentially problematic, but interesting nonetheless.

 

…

 

It’s becoming problematic. 

“You’ve got a lot of tattoos,” Remus remarks idly on the third day, as he’s rewrapping the bandages on Sirius’s ribs. His cold fingers make Sirius flinch every time they touch his skin, but Remus’s hands are gentle.

“I do. My parents really hate them,” Sirius says with a note of pride.

“Really.”

“I mean, they hate a lot of things. Not just my tattoos.”

“The bike too, I’d imagine.” Remus flicks his eyes up to meet Sirius’s. “And the hair.”

“And the gay thing,” Sirius adds breezily. Remus’s gaze falters for a moment. “And the fact all my friends are, quote, _lazy no-good scoundrels from poor families_ , end quote. Except James. They liked him before they found out he was Indian.” 

“Aren’t you—”

“Korean on my gran’s side, yeah, but… they’re assholes. It’s. Ugh.” Sirius sighs. “My family is a big mess, Remus, and I’m glad I got out when I did.”

“You share a lot, don’t you?” Remus finishes wrapping the bandages and straightens, wiping his hands on his scrubs. “Like, about your life. No filter.”

Sirius shrugs, or as much as he _can_ shrug with all the bandages. “I guess. I talk a lot. Maybe it’s you.”

Remus cracks a smile. “Me?”

Suddenly shy, Sirius looks at the bedsheets. “I don’t know, you seem trustworthy. Maybe that’s why I’m spilling my guts.”

“It could also be the drugs,” Remus points out, but he looks pleased. Nervous, and a little hesitant, but pleased. Sirius counts that as a victory.

 

...

 

“Well, freedom’s on the horizon,” says Remus. “It’s discharge day.”

“Thank Christ,” Sirius says. “I’m going to get chips and a beer and actually be a person again.”

“Sounds nice,” Remus agrees, sounding a little wistful. He helps Sirius stand up, shimmy his coat on over his cast, and zip up his boots with one hand. There’s nothing else to do except leave.

Sirius figures that it’s now or never.

“So. It’s been great, breaking my ribs and hopping myself up on morphine and losing my bike. But,” he looks down at his shoes, then back up at Remus, “the best part was meeting you. God, that was cheesy.” He laughs a little bit. Remus’s eyes are unreadable, but his tongue darts out to moisten his lips, a nervous thing, kind of cute. “Can I have your number?”

There is silence. For the first time, Sirius notices the clock in the corner of the room, ticking away. It’s almost the end of Remus’s shift.

“My number?” Remus says, eyebrows quirking like it’s a surprise, like after all the flirting and winking and obvious attraction he’s _surprised_ that Sirius actually likes him. 

“Yeah,” Sirius says. “Your number. Like, from your phone.”

Remus’s mouth turns down a little at the corners. “Sirius—I can’t. You’re a patient here, and I’m your nurse, and that is a _huge_ breach of—”

“Hey.” Sirius cuts him off. “It’s okay. I don’t expect anything, and I’m not pressuring you at all. But,” Sirius puts his non-injured arm out, extending a slip of paper. Remus takes it, half-bewildered. “If you ever wanted to, I dunno, get a drink or a coffee or something. As friends. Or. Yeah.” He shuts up.

Remus nods too fast, his hair flopping in his face. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll… see you, then.”

Sirius smiles. “Cheers. And thanks. For everything. You’re a good nurse.”

He doesn’t wait around. Instead, he walks down the corridor, out the doors, into the street, where Peter is waiting with his car to drive him home. The spring sun makes the English sky, usually so dour, look cheerful. Like the world is waking up after a long nap.

As he walks, humming a little, he wonders how much it’ll cost to get his bike fixed. He wonders if his ribs will ever stop hurting when he breathes in too deep.

Most of all, he wonders if Remus will call.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday, a hangover, and the... grocery store?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! it's been a few weeks, thanks for waiting! hope you enjoy :)

Remus doesn’t call. 

Every time his phone buzzes, a jolt of nerves runs down Sirius’s spine. And then a spreading mass of disappointment, because it’s only James, or Peter, or sometimes Mad-Eye, threatening him that if he’s late to work “one more time…”

But yeah. He hasn’t seen Remus since he was discharged over a week ago, and it’s given him a persistent ache somewhere above his stomach and below his ribcage, which also still hurts. Sirius Black, ladies and gentlemen, is just one big painful bruise. 

The Friday after he’s discharged, Lily and James drag him out of the house to a local bar for Peter’s twenty-fifth birthday party. It hadn’t been a fun day at work—a little girl’s body was found in a nearby river, and they tracked down the guy who did it, and it was a lot of paperwork, and they’re all _exhausted_ —but they’re going to put on a brave face for Peter and have some _fun_ , dammit. At least, Sirius hopes so. The overcast sky and dreadful humidity have loomed for days, and the weather report doesn’t look good. It’s quite possible that not only will his hair refuse to behave, but he’ll be drenched as soon as he steps foot outside.

And sure enough, just as the party starts in earnest, there’s a loud thunderclap and rain begins to hammer down on the roof.

“Bad luck, Pete,” says Lily, and throws back another shot. She looks very pretty tonight, all glossy red hair and bright green eyes, her lipstick a deep shade of mauve. If Sirius tried, he could imagine they were all back at school, getting drunk on cheap liquor in Marlene and Lily’s dorm room.

Peter shrugs. He’s letting things go nowadays, which is a welcome change. He’s still twitchy and nervous around people he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t run for the exits when shit gets rough. 

“You should talk to that girl,” James whispers, pointing to a cute brunette on the other side of the bar. She’s trying to pretend like she’s not staring at them, but her eyes flick over a few more times than would be normal.

Peter turns a deep red. “You think so?” he mutters back. “I mean, I’m not…”

“I’ll help!” Lily says, and drags him over to the dance floor. She can hold her liquor just as well as the next girl, but her cheeks are getting a little flushed.

James, designated driver, sighs and follows. 

The bartender pauses his wiping of glasses to slide Sirius another whiskey on the rocks. “Alright, mate?”

Sirius looks up. Takes a sip, long and slow. “Yeah,” he says, tipsy, gaze sliding over the bartender’s chiseled features and thick, corded arms. “I am now.”

The man smiles. “Good.” He resumes his task, muscles shifting in his forearms. “Looks like you had a nasty fall,” he says, referring to the cast on Sirius’s arm.

“Motorbike crash,” Sirius says. “I got hurt pretty badly.” He leans forward slightly, exposing his neck a little more. There’s a tattoo of a sunflower on his shoulder, and you can see some of the petals if he gets the angle right.

“Nice tattoos,” the bartender says.

“You like them?” He winks.

And there, Sirius _feels_ it, that stir of attraction in his gut. Maybe he doesn’t want Remus that badly after all. Maybe he’s just been wanting someone. Maybe this bartender guy is his opportunity.

“My boyfriend has a tattoo of a rose on his ankle,” the bartender says with a meaningful look, and _oh well_ , that plan is scuppered. (It’s a shame, but Sirius is hardly one to break up a relationship. That’s more of his dear cousin Narcissa’s thing.)

“Nice,” Sirius says approvingly. No hard feelings. “Listen, I’m gonna go find my friend. It’s his birthday tonight, so it wouldn’t be right of me to throw him to the wolves.”

By “the wolves,” he’s referring to a gaggle of _very_ drunk girls surrounding Peter and singing “Happy Birthday” wildly off-key. Poor Peter looks overwhelmed; a wonderful excuse to halt the conversation in its tracks before it gets too awkward.

“Of course,” the bartender says. “And hey. Have a good night, okay?”

Sirius nods, feeling a little too… _pitied_ for his taste, and heads to Peter.

“Isn’t he so _cute_?” one of the girls gushes, her blonde hair falling from its updo and her mascara badly smeared. “So cute, so small and cute, like a little rabbit!”

“Peter Rabbit!” another one says loudly, and the blonde girl laughs like it’s the most brilliant thing she’s ever heard. 

“Peter Rabbit!” she echoes, and kisses Peter smack on the lips. He looks stunned, poor boy, and Sirius hauls the girl off of him.

“Thank you, ladies, but my friend needs some air,” he says firmly. Peter just hangs from his grasp. “Excuse me, ‘scuse me.”

With their combined strength, he and Peter manage to push their way out of the crowd and into the coatroom. 

“Ugh,” Peter gasps. “Thanks.”

Sirius inclines his head. “No need to thank me, comrade.” He makes a face. “Eurgh, this room smells like sex.”

“And mothballs,” Peter adds mournfully.

Just then, someone enters and they jump. 

“Sorry,” the woman says, and giggles. “This isn’t the bathroom.” She shakes her head, a little punch-drunk, and leaves.

Peter sighs. “How in hell am I twenty-five, Sirius?”

“Don’t ask me,” says Sirius, brushing a bit of fluff from the shoulder of Peter’s rather ugly brown jacket. “Every time I remember I'm an adult I want to sleep for thousands of years. Hey, idea: let’s go find James and Lily and drink ourselves under the table.”

“Sirius, you're a genius. Let’s,” Peter agrees.

They stumble out of the bar two hours later with Peter flopped between James and Sirius’s shoulders while Lily pats his head in sympathy.

“Mother… _fucker_ ,” Peter mumbles, and Sirius privately, secretly, concurs.

 

…

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Sirius mumbles, and throws another pillow over his pounding head.

There’s a persistent sort of drumming sound outside, like… _ugh_. The rain hasn’t stopped. He smacks his mouth—dry, and there’s an awful taste clinging to his tongue. 

_Coffee_ , he thinks, and reluctantly hoists himself out of bed.

Horror of horrors, he’s out of eggs. And bread. And onions. And other vital breakfast staples, like oranges and butter and—he scrubs a hand down his face. Coffee.

It’s cruel, cruel irony; he hasn’t gone grocery shopping since before the accident, and it’s coming back to bite him, hard. He curses himself as he zips up his jacket and jams on a hat, still half-asleep and very, very pissed off.

Sirius stalks into the grocery like Bucky Barnes on his way to kill Captain America. Needless to say, shoppers move out of his way very quickly.

 _Coffee, bread, eggs, onions, oranges_ he chants in his head, snagging a shopping basket from the stack. The fluorescent lights burn into his eyes, and every _clack_ of a shopping cart over tile makes him hiss in pain. Hangovers always hit him hard.

He’s staring hard at the yellow onions like one of them will get up and start dancing when he hears a familiar voice.

“Sirius?”

He turns to find Remus, clad not in scrubs but a soft beige sweater and jeans. His hair is scruffy and the bags under his eyes are worse than usual.

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius says, scrubbing a hand over his face. This really isn’t how he’d envisioned his morning going.

“Um. Nice to see you too?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, forcing his face into a smile. “It’s funny, running into you here.”

Remus shrugs, selecting a round red onion and weighing it in his hand before placing it carefully in his basket.

“Well,” Sirius continues, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I better, um—”

“How’s the arm?” asks Remus mildly. “And the ribcage?”

“Oh. They’re good. I haven’t crashed any more, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Remus laughs. “That’s good.”

They just stand there for a moment. Sirius is acutely aware of Remus’s gaze. He looks _horrible_ , he’s sure; greasy hair, ratty clothes, bloodshot eyes. Remus looks tired, but on purpose. He's casually messy, like a cool professor that all the students are in love with. For the first time, Sirius notices just how hazel his eyes are.

“I’m headed to work in an hour,” Remus says, “but do you want to… go somewhere? After my shift? As friends,” he adds hastily, and Sirius tries not to let his face fall.

“Yeah, of course. Where were you thinking?”

“Why don’t you meet me at Channer Street Market and we’ll walk around?” Remus says. “Get dinner, see the sights.”

“Okay,” Sirius agrees. Friends. He can do that.

“I get off work at seven,” Remus says. “I’ll call you.” His face softens a little, adding a sort of youthful sweetness to his face.

 _Friends,_ Sirius reminds himself sternly. He can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, thanks for reading! if you want more/you enjoyed/you're a sweetheart please do me a solid and leave some kudos and/or comments :)


End file.
